


It's One Banana, Prompto, What Could It Cost? Ten Gil?

by Kudzu (LilacSolanum)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bickering, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Poison, Shippy Gen, Sickfic, friends working through drama, hurt/well meaning comfort, it may or may not be apparent that I love gladnis, the chocobros fight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:00:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26831815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacSolanum/pseuds/Kudzu
Summary: Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto exist in orbit around Noctis, and they like and respect each other. They all looked forward to a fun and frivolous road trip, excited to celebrate the end of Noctis's life as a single man.They never expected the journey to turn into weeks of unrelenting close quarters, desperate scrambling for gil, and endless fights with daemons. When Ignis gets taken out by poison, their rising tension comes to a head, and they must smooth out the changing nature of their relationships.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Ignis Scientia, Gladiolus Amicitia & Prompto Argentum, Gladiolus Amicitia & Prompto Argentum & Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia, Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum & Ignis Scientia
Comments: 31
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

Ignis Scientia was meticulous and thorough, which is why he subjected himself to all the hunter forums daily—even the ones with crude language, casual use of shocking slurs, and terrible spelling. They kept him updated on daemon sightings, starscourge-touched beasts, and what he could expect from an encounter. 

Cor had been sending Ignis locations of the royal tombs. The results were discouraging. Most were so old that nature had swallowed them in lava or ice or rock, and they weren’t prepared for that kind of intensity. That meant more weeks of living out of their suitcases and earning gil only to spend it on supplies. That meant pushing back finding a boat to Altissa. That meant training. It was rough on everyone.

He did his best to raise their spirits with a tentative timeline for earning all thirteen royal arms. He made lists of what he’d like in the armiger, and what skills he’d see mastered for each member of the retinue. He kept running tabs on the beasts they came across, what the libra spell told himself or Noctis, and what tactics had been especially effective. He tried to show them their tasks were achievable, and Noctis’s quest wasn’t as endless as it seemed. 

Noctis had glanced at it, and likely absorbed nothing. Prompto declared “Ignis stuff” boring, and asked if he could jazz it up. He proceeded to decorate Ignis’s files with emojis, clashing colors, and ugly fonts. Ignis allowed it, but when quizzed the next day, Prompto showed he retained nothing. Gladio had read everything in detail, then tried to lecture Ignis on the importance of flexibility over plans. Ignis felt preparation and adaptability went hand in hand, and he opted not to engage with Gladio’s criticism behind polite acknowledgement.

One tomb he was comfortable exploring was located in Duscae. It was only three generations old, and easily accessible, surrounded only by Duscae’s mild climate. The only danger was the scourge-touched fauna roaming the area, but their team had dealt with such creatures with relative ease. The biggest risk lay in primarily overgrown centipedes the hunters called redlegs whose stingers were filled with venom. However, the poison responded easily to antitoxin curatives, and should pose no harm providing they were adequately stocked.

Ignis calculated what they’d need based on the expected frequency of redleg encounters, the likelihood of any of them losing care based on their past patterns, and any extra insurance they could afford without completely wiping out their growing but meager financial overhead. Ignis expected the excursion to go smoothly. 

They arrived at the structure unbothered, and got inside easily. Noctis lay his hands on the casket. 

Nothing happened.

“What the fuck?” whispered Noctis. Ignis swallowed his protest at Noctis’s vocabulary, as that battle was long lost. It was not the language itself that bothered Ignis, it was that distancing oneself from words of anger led to a more level head. The crude Gladio and impressionable Prompto had other feelings, and Igniis had given up.

“Let us explore before disparaging,” he said patiently. “There’s certain to be an explanation.”

They didn’t have to search for long. Noctis found a letter left by a hunter that supposed the royal arm had been somehow squirreled away by a daemon residing in a nearby ruin.

“Man! Daemons really just can’t leave your grandpas alone, huh,” said Prompto with a cloying cheerfulness. Ignis knew Prompto could deftly wield his affable nature to diffuse tension, but he also knew Prompto could completely misread a room. Ignis wished he would find a balance, and suspected he’d be wishing that for a very long time.

Noctis let the paper slip from his hand unceremoniously, not bothering to set it back on the altar. Ignis clicked his tongue in annoyance. They could never be too careful, and they could very well need that note at a later time. He bent down to grab it. Gladio interrupted him.

“Pick that up, Noct,” he growled. Ignis let out a small sigh, allowing himself to close his eyes briefly before schooling his face back to neutral. Noctis had woken up with one of his recent headaches, and that had put him on edge. Even after recovering, he still felt too poorly to eat, and was quickly sinking into a mood that would last the rest of the day. Interrupting that descent was delicate work, and Gladio was not helping.

“Why? It’s garbage now,” said Noctis.

“I’d like to keep it all the same,” said Ignis evenly. “One never knows.”

Noctis huffed, snatched the note from the ground, and thrust it at Ignis. “What’s Costlemark Tower?” he asked. Gladio and Prompto turned to listen.

“An old ruin not too far from here,” said Ignis, dutifully reciting information he’d learned from the hunters. “The entrance is sealed, and the area is swarmed with infected animals.” He hesitated before speaking again. “It would be best to revisit at a later time, after we have ourselves a bit more organized. It’s not the sort of area one enters on a whim.”

Noctis threw his arms out in frustration. “Well, I have to go there if I like it or not! Can we just check it out a little?”

Ignis peered out the door. The sky was clear of rain with no sign of a coming storm. They were well stocked, well rested (save for Noctis), and in no particular hurry. Ignis pulled a protein bar out of a pouch beneath his jacket, a brand that was more sugar than nutrition, but it was filling enough.

“Some light reconnaissance would be beneficial, but I insist we take a moment to refresh and strategize before we journey on.”

Noctis grabbed the snack with a scowl. “Fine,” he said. “As long as we get out of here. These places depress me.”

“Me too,” said Prompto, clapping a hand on Noctis’s shoulder and pushing him out. “Too many weird statues.” If he’d realized Noctis’s particular distaste came from the inevitability of his father’s tomb, Prompto didn’t show it. He continued to chatter away.

Ignis pulled his notebook out and tucked the note away. He watched as Gladio walked a slow circle around the altar. He wiped his finger in the dust and studied it.

“Looking for clues?” asked Ignis.

Gladio grunted an affirmation. “Daemons leave behind residue. Maybe I can figure out what type took the weapon.” He sniffed at the dust.

“Daemon residue is hardly identifiable to the naked eye,” said Ignis. 

Gladio rolled his eyes. “I don’t remember you going out tracking with Cor.”

Ignis opened his mouth to retort that that didn’t change the nature of daemon residue, but Prompto interrupted him from outside the tomb.

“Hey Iggy! You got another one of those bar things?” he shouted.

“Of course!” Ignis called back. “And you?” he asked.

“I’m good,” said Gladio, gathering more dust on his other figures and comparing whatever results he thought he had found. “Those things are too sweet.”

“I’ve wasabi almonds,” said Ignis. He’d already known Gladio didn’t have much of a sweet tooth, and had seen Gladio buy nut packs when they stopped at convenience stores.

At first, Gladio seemed to be pleasantly surprised, and Ignis felt a sense of satisfaction. He found pride in providing and happiness in delighting, even through something as simple as almonds. 

Then Gladio’s expression soured. 

“Yeah, still good, got trail mix. Most grown ass men don’t like being babysat,” he snapped.

Ignis bit the inside of his cheek, an undetectable maneuver he’d learned to calm himself around entitled statesmen. He reminded himself that they were in a royal tomb, and for every king, there was a Shield. Ignis should be extending the same patience to Gladio as he did Noctis, even if Gladio’s temper flared often and far, and was often aimed. Noctis may be obstinate, but he rarely insulted others.

“My apologies,” said Ignis, unsuccessfully masking his sarcasm. He left Gladio to do his work of covering himself in dust for absolutely no reason.

When he handed Prompto a protein bar, Noctis asked for another. Then he immediately offered it back to Ignis, an expectant look on his face. Ignis realized he hadn’t eaten much, either. He took it, nodding at Noctis, who nodded back, a conversation in gestures.

“You guys are weird,” said Prompto.

—

The redlegs around Costlemark Tower appeared as a slow trickle at first, manageable, nothing a Caelum and his Crystal supported retinue couldn’t handle. The further they got, the more beasts they came across, and soon it seemed that Duscae had been entirely overrun by redlegs and worse. When it became apparent they needed to turn back, they were close enough to the ruins that sense gave way to pride. Ignis tried to reason with his team, but both Noctis and Gladio were irritated and determined, and Prompto wasn’t one for arguments. They powered through. 

They ran out of antidotes.

In spite of Ignis’s warning, the Tower’s sealed off entrance enraged Noctis, which in turn irritated Gladio. Ignis surmised sundown could have an effect on the ruin’s secrets, and everyone knew that meant swarms of daemons. Ignis tried to comfort the team with promises to tackle the issue in the future, but it soothed no one. They began the suddenly impossibly long trek back to the haven, taking care to avoid any sign of a redleg, covered in viscera and dirt and utterly despondent.

Noctis was walking ahead of everyone with his arms crossed, sulking so hard the air practically tasted of it. Ignis almost jogged up to him to ask if his headache was back, but there would be nothing to be done about it until they were back at camp, and Noctis would be annoyed Ignis had asked.

Ahead of Noctis was a tree that had grown over the faint dirt path they had found. Noctis, deep in brooding, ran straight into the branches. He cried out, a wordless yell, and all his pent up frustration came with it. Before anyone could react, Noctis had summoned Prompto’s electronic saw, revved it, and hacked away at the branches for no reason beyond petulance.

“Settle down, Noct!” said Ignis, but the loud whirring noise of the machine drowned him out.

Gladio was at Noctis’s side in a blink, pulling him back by his shirt. “Knock it off!” he bellowed. “You trying to wake up every fucking predator in Duscae?”

Noctis clicked his tongue and pulled away as if to ignore Gladio, but he did release the saw to the armiger. “Maybe you will if you keep yelling like that.” 

Ignis watched as Prompto took a step back, as if he were trying to escape to the trees. Ignis pushed up his glasses. “We’ve all had a very long day,” he said calmly.

Gladio pivoted to Ignis. Ignis straightened his back. He had been readying himself since the tomb.

“You’re not gonna say shit about that little display? Huh?” said Gladio. “Does he get a new toy every time he throws a tantrum?”

Ignis’s fingers twitched at his side. He’d long since trained himself out of clenching his fist in frustration, but it became harder the more he was pushed.

He reminded himself that Noctis and Gladio were mourning, that neither had been given time to do it properly. Noctis had been openly emotional, while Gladio had kept his feelings hidden. Gladio’s compartmentalization of his personal life and his duty was no easy feat, and it was clear he was beginning to crack under the weight of it. They deserved empathy.

He had also been stung by two redlegs, trapped beneath one, and torn his coat. Again. It was beginning to look like a quilt. He was tired, overuse of potions had sped up his heart rate uncomfortably, and he smelled like redleg gore. He would  _ continue _ to smell like redleg gore. The haven hardly had a proper shower. He missed having consistent access to hot running water. He missed listening to the news on Insomnia Public Radio as he went through his morning routine. He missed putting together outfits from his formidable wardrobe. He missed the future he had planned for himself. He missed Insomnia.

His patience for Gladio and Noctis was wearing thin.

“Perhaps there are to be toys all around,” he said, knowing he was escalating, and suddenly not caring.

“Used to think Regis was the reason he’s a spoiled shit,” growled Gladio. “Been changing my mind about that lately.”

Ignis’s fingers curled. “You are welcome to yell again. Perhaps this time, it will bring out his best in him.”

“Yeah, ‘cause coddling is going great.”

“Then I suppose I will join you in bludgeoning him with misplaced anger. I’m afraid I’m unpracticed. You’ll have to teach me.”

“Guys…,” said Prompto, his eyes trained on Noctis. Noctis was unmoving, his arms loose at his side, staring at the ground. “Stop talking about him like he’s not here,” he said softly. 

Ignis took in a slow, deep breath. Prompto normally stayed out of Gladio and Ignis’s roles with Noctis, and hearing him speak was sobering.

Gladio did not have the same reaction.

“Stay the fuck out of this,” he said. Prompto took another step away. He looked everywhere that wasn’t Gladio.

Noctis pivoted toward the source of Prompto’s consternation. “What is your problem!”

“My problem? My problem is I’ve been tiptoeing around you ‘cause your nanny doesn’t want me to make you sad, all while babysitting Prompto as he eats all our potions!”

Ignis felt sharp words on his tongue, razor-edged and forged to hurt. His hands formed fists.

He relaxed them. He was Noctis’s guardian first and foremost, and dusk was approaching. The fight needed to wait.

“I doubt the approaching daemons will be respectful of our dramatics,” he said, doing his best to sound smooth and in control. “Let us calm ourselves with a walk back to the haven.”

“We got time,” said Noctis. He stepped to Gladio, wrapped in fury. Gladio laughed darkly.

“This is not the time or place,” snapped Ignis, dropping all pretense of patience. 

Noctis ignored him. “Go ahead. Talk about Prompto again.”

“ _ Noct! _ ” said Ignis, raising his voice.

Prompto reached out and rested his hand on Noctis’s shoulder, pulling him backwards just slightly. “Hey, it’s okay buddy, I messed up a few times.”

“A few?” growled Gladio.

“He was prepped to be familiar with Crownsguard methods, not to participate in this level of fieldwork,” said Ignis. “We can discuss further training at the haven!”

“Can’t train common sense,” said Gladio.

Lightening jumped between Noctis’s fingers. Ignis hissed. Noctis and Gladio maintained vicious eye contact, neither man flinching. “You insult my best friend, you insult me.”

“Come now, Noctis,” said Ignis. Ignis knew neither man was capable of harming the other, and both were posturing. That didn’t mean they weren’t creating friction, and that that energy would need to disperse. Ignis didn’t want to find out where or how.

“Gladio’s right!” said Prompto, his voice pitched high in anxiety. A dam in him had crumbled. “I got in front of him with that second swarm, then I was so focused on one of ‘em coming at me I didn’t see the other one at my five o’clock, no, seven o’clock, I get it mixed up, Cor always yelled at me for that, I got too caught up in aiming, Gladio had to pull me away, he got stung because of it, I—”

“Calm yourself, Prompto,” said Ignis as steadily as he could. “We will discuss your performance later. The sun is setting.”

“Not yet,” said Noctis.

“You don’t get to control everything, Ignis,” said Gladio.

“I rather think I—”

And then the redleg attacked.

Gladio acted on instinct, responding to the blood-deep mandate to protect that had been bred into him. He pushed down Noctis, took Prompto with him, and covered them with his body. Ignis bent backwards, as far as his considerable flexibility would allow, and performed a quick and effective dodge—and Ignis’s distracted mind realized too late how showy that was to a movement-based hunter.

The redleg sank his stinger into Ignis’s thigh. Ignis reflexively reached for the armiger for an antidote, and was met with a weak spark of light. 

Ignis’s went white.

He heard a telltale bang, then smelled scourge-tainted blood. Prompto had escaped Gladio and performed a perfect headshot, his arm out straight, suddenly calm and concentrated.

“Well done,” said Ignis, feeling distant from himself. The world was already moving slower and sounded muddier, like he was underwater, like he was buried.

Noctis, equally as trained in yielding his safety as Gladio was to guard it, escaped Gladio’s grip to stand with Prompto. He made toward Ignis. Ignis held out a hand.

“No need to infect two of us out of sentimentality. Are there any more?” he said, and then found himself gasping for air Speaking made it hard to breathe. Breathing made it hard to breathe. Ignis cleared his throat. 

“I don’t think so,” said Noctis. He sounded contrite, which Ignis supposed was something, though he’d have preferred to hear that tone after a cooling walk to the haven.

“Right,” said Ignis. He took a sharp breath inward, preparing himself for further speech. “The toxins primarily affect the lungs, which leads to coughing fits so violent ribs have been known to bruise. I hope it does not get to that point. I will likely vomit. Delirium is very common—” and then Ignis’s control gave out, and he succumbed to coughing, gasping for air when he could. It was as painful as the hunters had said.

Gladio took a cautious step forward. “Hey, save your strength,” he said softly. “I got this.”

Ignis forced himself to straighten, even as his throat burned. “Yes. Of course. You would have been taught such things. Forgive me. I’ve been told I’m patronizing.”

He lost his balance, and just barely managed to catch himself on a nearby tree. He was rapidly losing the ability to stand, but he would push it as far as his dignity would allow. “There are curatives for sale at—”

His lungs attacked him again.

“At Cauthess, I know,” said Gladio, reassuring rather than combative.

“We can’t get there before dark,” said Noctis.

“Can we wait until morning?” asked Prompto.

“No,” said Gladio grimly. 

“I will be fi—oh.”

A wave of vertigo hit Ignis, so intense the world blurred. He felt bark scratch his hand. He was slipping.

“Gladio, if you would—” he murmured. He felt strong arms catch him, and then he could no longer think.


	2. Chapter 2

Up until accompanying Noctis on this journey through Lucis, Prompto had had a fairly easy life. He lived in a safe neighborhood and had nice neighbors. His parents loved work and hated each other, but they always made sure he had what he needed, and the one time they forgot his birthday they overcompensated with a week long trip to Lil’ Malbuddy World. He had never known fear beyond test anxiety. 

Within the past month, he had faced daemons and beasts and magitek, and had a new language for fear, one shaped with hands dripping with his own blood. That language grew as he watched poison drown Ignis from inside his own body.

Ignis was right about the coughing. It was incessant, and he had to gasp for air between spasm. He clung to Gladio, who murmured a constant stream of encouragement to him. They stopped a few times to give Ignis water and a break, and at first he would rasp thank yous and apologies and push on, but soon he could only utter half formed sentences and mumble when they rested. Eventually, Prompto was on the other side of Ignis, helping Gladio drag him to the Haven while Noctis kept a lookout by warping back and forth.

They reached the safe zone just as the sun dipped below the horizon. By that time, Ignis was delirious and hallucinating, hot to the touch, and would not stop shivering.

Gladio and Noctis ran to the Regalia, then drove the luxury car off road and nearly ran it into the haven. They threw down all their supplies while giving Prompto a manic string of instructions, half of which were contradictory. Then they drove away, speeding off to the closest supply peddler. They were racing the stars and moon, and destined to lose.

Prompto remembered their first encounter with a daemon, one formed of darkness and iron, who crawled out of the earth in a pool of scourge, impossibly large and roaring with senseless rage. They were soft Insomnians then, cocky with their armiger and their Crystal-blessed magic, and thought they could protect themselves against anything. Only Ignis had known. If Ignis hadn’t assumed that Noctis would dismiss his warnings, if he hadn’t memorized every fact about every known daemon, if he hadn’t formed escape maneuvers for every thinkable situation, they might not have made it out.

Prompto pushed aside those thoughts and held Ignis close, comforting him as he emptied bile into a bucket, bags and piles of camping equipment scattered around them like discarded trash in a junkyard.

Gladio and Noctis hadn’t discussed who would get the antidote and who would stay with Ignis. They hadn’t needed to. Prompto was untrained and messy, more likely to trip over himself than fell a scourge beast. Noctis and Gladio were King and Shield, raised with weapons, taught to hold swords before they were taught to read. That left Prompto with Ignis.

That did not mean Prompto was suited to caring for a man who could not stand, especially when that man was Ignis, a brilliant torch to whom Prompto would look for in the dark.

Prompto’s heart began to beat so wildly he felt it in his throat. He broke out in a cold sweat, and his body went weak. He breathed in short bursts, pushing air out of lungs that had forgotten how to work.

He closed his eyes and pushed back tears.

He couldn’t afford the luxury of a panic attack.

“Okay Prompto!” he said, pouring cheer into his own voice for the benefit of no one but himself. “First thing’s first! Get Iggy a blanket!”

He let go of Ignis, who slumped without Prompto’s weight. “Prompto was meant to leave an hour ago,” he muttered.

“I wish, buddy. I wish,” he said, and unfurled a sleeping bag. “Okay, get in here, then I’ll set up the tent so you can be warmer. Wait, no, I’ll make a fire first! Um. I don’t know how to make a fire. How hard could it be? I mean, cavemen made fire, and they were idiots!”

That was how Prompto managed to set up camp, narrating his every move, deflecting Ignis whenever he tried to join in. It was a coping mechanism he had learned in his childhood, combating the long hours his parents left him home alone. It was harder to feel sorry for yourself when someone else was in a good mood, and sometimes you just had to go ahead and be that person.

Prompto found exactly one fire starter kit in their packs, and felt such deep relief he went lightheaded. Gladio delighted in using his flint and stone to catch fire on kindling he gathered himself, while Ignis and Noctis could start fires with a wave of their hands. Whoever had made sure there was a Prompto-proof way to tend to camp was his hero.

“It was probably you,” he rambled. “No. It was _definitely_ you. You know, you’re kind of taking care of yourself in a way.”

“Where is Noct?” croaked Ignis in response.

“Same place he was five minutes ago, getting you medicine.”

“I don’t have time to be ill.”

“Just—save your voice, okay, Iggy?”

After reading the instructions and building the bricks accordingly, Prompto went on to tackle the tent. Gladio had taught Prompto and Noctis how to pitch it, but it was a long time ago, and he hadn’t committed it to memory. He knew enough about the poles to get the tent to stand, though not reach its full shape and structure. 

Prompto stood over Ignis with his hands on his hips, considering. “Should I make you get out or can I just drag you in there by the blanket?”

“I will not be _dragged_ ,” said Ignis with sudden clarity, seemingly summoned to himself by the threat to his dignity. Prompto helped him sit up, and they crawled into the tent together. 

As soon as they were in, Ignis’s eyes were glossy and unfocused again. “Where has Noct gone?”

“He went off with the whole cast of Insomnia’s Next Top Model. They’re gonna have an orgy.”

Ignis’s eyes went wide in alarm, and he struggled to get back up. Prompto pushed him down in a panic. “Sorry, sorry! I didn’t think you’d react, I shouldn’t have said that, my bad. He’s fine. He’s okay. He and Gladio are fine,” he said, and hoped he wasn’t lying.

Ignis blinked blearily at him, then went still. His eyes closed and his head fell to one side, and for one happy moment, he looked asleep and peaceful

Then he curled in on himself and moaned in pain.

Prompto swallowed down his rising anxiety.

The last thing Prompto could think to do was keep Ignis’s fever in check. He knew he had access to cold things. Once their road trip became an indefinite royal quest, Ignis and Noctis figured out how to spell two coolers to act as a refrigerator and freezer. He pulled out a bottle of water and put it behind Ignis’s neck, then wet a washcloth and placed it on his forehead.

“Kind of you,” Ignis muttered, his voice sounding so sick and torn it pained Prompto to hear it.

“Yeah, buddy. Of course,” said Prompto.

Prompto was now out of tasks.

The tent grew uncomfortably quiet.

“Got any advice for me, man?” asked Prompto quietly. “Any ideas? C’mon Iggy. I need you.”

A violent coughing fit took over Ignis, the force of it forcing him to sit up. Prompto brought himself close, rubbing at his back, taking Ignis’s hand in his free one.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. I’m here,” he said, because he felt those were the right words to say, even if he hardly felt his presence was any comfort.

“Noct?” Ignis asked when he was back in control.

“Uh, no, sorry. Just Prompto,”

Ignis blinked at him blearily. “Prompto is a distraction. I’m pleased you’ve found a friend among the commoners, but while he is charming, he is not as important as your duty to the crown,” he said sternly.

Slowly, Prompto fell back on his knees. All at once, the panic within him dissolved, and was replaced with a gnawing numbness that was somehow worse.

The sagging tent filled with the sound of Ignis’s labored breathing. Prompto could hear the fluid rattling around in his lungs.

“Sorry about that,” said Prompto quietly. He dropped Ignis’s hand, and reset the rag that had fallen off of his forehead. It already felt lukewarm.

Ignis winced at some inner pain, and then asked, “Where are Noctis and Gladio?”

Prompto opened his mouth to answer, but then Ignis cleared his throat and looked around. “Right. The antidote. Have they checked in?”

Prompto realized he was lucid, at least for now. He swept away his insecurities, and focused on making the best of this opportunity.

“They shouldn’t be too far off.” If a ground giant hadn’t crushed the Regalia in its fist. If a living bomb of lightning hadn’t stopped their hearts. If a warrior ghost wielding a death blade hadn’t run them through. Prompto forced a grin. “Until then, you’re stuck with me! You need anything, Specs?”

“Just the antidote,” he said, as dry as ever, even in his state. 

His eyelids were shutting, and Prompto knew he was losing his window to get guidance. “C’mon! I’m here for you! Whatever you need, I’m your man! What did your parents do when you were sick as a kid?”

Ignis’s reply was a dark, angry, bitter laugh. Prompto jerked back in surprise.

The laughter turned into coughing, and then Ignis was lost to the world.

—

Gladio and Noctis were supposed to be gone for an hour, max. Two hours passed. Ignis’s coughing grew worse and worse, until he was spitting mucus streaked with blood into tissues, and his occasional bouts of vomit turned into empty dry heaving that only aggravated his throat more. Prompto’s panic attack was escaping his tight grip. He held Ignis through his fits, then cried when they were done, doubled in on himself, knees hugged to his chest.

Finally, finally, he heard people coming toward the haven.

Prompto burst out of the tent, his heart soaring—and then it sank as soon as he realized Gladio was holding Noctis up.

“What happened!” he shouted, immediately running toward them.

Gladio shoved past Prompto, a glowing vial in his fist. “What the fuck is wrong with the tent?” he said, almost growling. He pushed Noctis away, which made him stumble and sway. Prompto went to Noctis’s side, and Gladio disappeared into the tent. They heard the sound of a curative breaking, a loud gasp from Ignis, and then Gladio’s voice whispering comforts.

Prompto grabbed a camp chair for Noctis and led him to it, confident that Gladio’s relative silence meant Ignis was fine. Noctis fell into it, breathing hard.

“Dude,” said Prompto quietly.

“Daemon giant,” gasped Noctis. “Couldn’t take it down. I distracted it, Gladio booked it, I had to warp back to him.”

“Whoa,” said Prompto. He paused. “Wait. Was he waiting for you, or…”

“Car was moving the whole time.”

“So you raced the Regalia.”

“Yep,” said Noctis.

Prompto’s eyes went wide. “That’s badass. You’re badass.”

Noctis, exhausted and drained, still managed a cocky smile. “Yeah. I am.”

He leaned over and tried to untie his boots, but his hands were shaking too much. Prompto frowned, and reached into the armiger to find the Kingsglaive potions that restored abused magical connection to the Crystal. Only Noctis and, very rarely, Ignis used them.

There was only one left, something Noctis must be saving for some other emergency. He had drained himself completely, and then pushed himself further, with no way to recover but time.

Prompto gently pushed Noctis’s hands away, and removed his shoes on his behalf. There was a beauty there, a simple commoner and his King, a Lucian rendering service to the royal line that gave so much of itself to protect its people. Prompto was proud. He rarely got to help Noctis with Gladio and Ignis around, and in that moment, he felt like a proven member of Noctis’s guard, even through something as simple as shoes.

Prompto and Noctis heard violent coughing. They both snapped their heads toward the tent.

“Shouldn’t that have stopped by now?” said Prompto.

Gladio crawled out of the tent. “Toxins had a lot of time to fuck him up. He’s not going to die, but he’ll need rest. A lot of rest.” He found a sleeping roll and started to unravel it. “We’ll hole up at The Leville. Got shit to pick up at the P.O. box anyway.”

“Do we have money for that?” asked Noctis.

“Iggy said we finally had something like a cushion. Not sure if it’s enough, but we’ll figure it out.” He shook out the bed roll, then tossed it in the tent. 

He grabbed another and treated it even more aggressively. “You could’ve set the rest of these up, Prompto,” he snapped.

“Sorry,” Prompto mumbled, staring down at his hands..

He couldn’t blame Gladio for his bad mood, but while Noctis and Ignis could shrug off his comments with nothing more than an eye roll, they settled deep in Prompto, who was already prone to self blame and over thinking. He took a deep breath, and helped Gladio set up the rest of camp.

They crawled into the tent when it was ready. 

Prompto didn’t sleep.

  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Boyz take Ignis to Lestallum, where tensions continue to be, you know, tense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter where they are mean to each other, I swear!
> 
> Also I would like to thank Square Enix for [this fanart of my fic,](https://imgur.com/gtYiIos) where Ignis got poisoned in my game and kept glowing green until I turned it off. Thank you Square Enix for declaring my fanfic canon, I am very honored.

After Ignis stabilized, the other boys crawled into their tent, and did their best to sleep.

Noctis was ostensibly their leader, but only in the shape of their journey. Ignis was the one who pieced together plans out of Noctis’s trajectory, who kept them healthy and calm. Gladio lacked Ignis’s finesse, but he was the next best thing. 

They already had plans to swing through Lestallum to check their P.O. Box. Prompto was a whiz at finding deals for curatives online. He also bought strange little gadgets that always proved useful, the latest being smuggled Magitek bullets that could allegedly simulate sunlight and weaken daemons. They had originally intended to just swing through, but it was the best place to house Ignis while he recovered. It’d be expensive, but the Amicitias were longtime friends of the Levilles, and Gladio got a discount. Plus, the Lestallum Hospital was as good as it got outside Insomnia, and there was a chance Ignis could need medical attention.

Gladio needed to be his best to guide them to Lestallum. He needed to sleep.

He couldn’t.

He lay on his back and stared up at nothing with only Ignis’s labored breathing and occasional coughing fits to distract him. Before Gladio knew it, birds were singing, and the tent was glowing a soft green. When he was confident the sun was high enough to banish the daemons, he quietly removed himself, and started warming up for a run. He needed the release of something physical, especially after last night. He could still see the silver-blue streak of Noctis commanding the sky, and still felt ashamed that all he could do to help was drive the Regalia.

Prompto stumbled out of the tent not long after Gladio, his eyes painfully bloodshot. He rummaged through one of his bags and pulled out a small plastic bottle. He tilted his head back, and proceeded to all but drown his eyeballs in contact rewetting drops.

“You got to take those damn things out sometimes,” said Gladio.

Prompto sniffed and wiped at his saline streaked cheeks. “Yeah,” he said, dismissive and lethargic. Gladio breathed in, and reminded himself Prompto had had a shit night, too. It was hard enough seeing Ignis in pain, nevermind soothing him through the worst of it while all alone. He didn’t even have Gladio’s background in combat medicine.

“You wanna go for a run?” he asked, knowing Prompto likely hadn’t slept either, and that he found as much solace in cardio as Gladio did. Prompto nodded numbly in response. He began his own stretches.

Gladio dipped back into the tent, leaving Prompto to his warm-ups. He roughly jostled Noctis with his foot. Ignis and Prompto normally took over the task of rousing Noctis, and both were always tender and slow. Gladio secretly relished the opportunity to be harsh. 

Noctis immediately jerked awake and sat up with his eyes wide. As unkind as Gladio had been, this was still surprising from Noctis. His nerves were clearly frayed from the night before. Gladio felt a distant twinge of guilt, but mostly felt smug.

“Me and Prompto are gonna go run around the haven. Keep an eye on Iggy.”

“Huh?” said Noctis blearily. He squinted out the tent’s open flaps.

“Me. Prompto. Run. If Iggy needs something, give it to him.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure,” said Noctis. He then lay back down and rolled on his side. 

Gladio kicked him again. “Hey!” he barked.

Noctis yelped and sat back up. “I get it!”

Ignis stirred, turning his sweat-soaked and flushed face toward them. He blinked at them, dazed, his sleep disturbed by their conversation. They both waited for him to speak, but his eyes quickly fluttered shut. 

Gladio pointed at him while glaring at Noctis.

He rolled his eyes at Gladio and gave him a sarcastic thumbs up. Gladio pointed at his eyes, then back at Noctis. Noctis flipped him off.

Gladio joined Prompto outside, and the two of them left the campsite, jogging side by side without saying a word.

—-

By the time Gladio and Promtp were winding back to camp, Prompto had become his normal self, rambling about everything and nothing. Gladio didn’t mind the chatter. Prompto crossed the line from charmingly effervescent to deeply obnoxious often, but normally Gladio appreciated his relentless cheer.

“What’d’ya think Specs was going to make for us tonight?” Prompto asked. He wasn’t out of breath at all, even if Gladio had pushed their speed, and Prompto had been babbling for a while. Gladio was impressed. “We’ll need to pick up the slack and do it ourselves.”

“Dunno. Think he picked up some potatoes and we still got garula meat.”

“Stew again?”

“Probably. Iggy hides lentils in there. Noct hasn’t figured it out.”

Prompto whined dramatically. “I miss fresh veggies!” he said. Gladio raised his eyebrows in surprise. Prompto never stopped complaining, but he generally left commentary about Noctis up to the royal retainers.

“You know, maybe I should cook sometimes,” he continued. He sounded somewhat hesitant, as if he expected Gladio to immediately shoot him down. Gladio had no interest in doing so.

“You cook?”

“I know how!” said Prompto, cautiously excited at Gladio’s acceptance. “I’m nowhere near as good as Iggy, but I used to cook for myself all the time! Simple stuff, but I know how to not burn things! Well, uhhh, mostly. I could make a stir fry!”

“Yeah?”

“Totally! I’ll make it with eos snap peas and bean sprouts and sweet peppers and give Iggy a rest. Noct can eat candy bars or something.”

Gladio laughed, easily imaging Noctis shoving chocolate into his face while Ignis watched in horror. “Great fucking idea. I say—”

They turned a corner that put the campsite in view, and Gladio immediately interrupted himself, his tone shifting from amused to anger in one breath. “What the fuck!” 

Ignis was awake, and he’d set up the skeleton of their cooking station. He was carrying the stove to it. 

Noctis was nowhere to be found.

Gladio sprinted at full speed. He wordlessly grabbed the stove out of Ignis’s shaking hands and slammed it on the station. Ignis seemed startled by Gladio’s appearance, like he couldn’t quite piece together what had happened. He was still in his rumpled clothes from the day before. His hair had fallen down awkwardly, remnants of product causing strands to stick out at strange angles, and he wasn’t wearing his glasses. It’d be cute if it wasn’t the result of a harrowing night, or if Noctis had been with him, guiding him toward self care and recovery instead of cooking.

There was an open can of Ebony on the station. Gladio snatched it away. That managed to snap Ignis back to reality.

“Do calm yourself,” said Ignis, and it sounded like someone had taken steel wool to his throat. He winced in pain, then dissolved into a coughing fit. Prompto gathered Ignis and rubbed at his back. Ignis stepped away from Prompto and visibly forced himself to regain control with deep, ragged breaths. When he was steady, he took the Ebony back, managing a decently haughty look in spite of the circumstances.

“Fuck, Iggy, you need electrolytes, not caffeine! Where the hell is Noct?” growled Gladio.

“Sleeping,” said Ignis. He cleared his throat again. “I have no intention to wake him. Were we attacked? It’s clear his magic has been drained.”

Gladio briefly wondered how Ignis could tell something like that just from looking, but the thought passed. He burst into the tent with so much force that Prompto’s patchwork set-up collapsed, burying Noctis in a tangle of canvas and rods. He flailed his way out, pushing and pulling at the fabric.

When he was freed and standing, Gladio closed in on him, his voice booming like he was shouting at a new group of Crownsguard recruits. “Waiting on Iggy to bring you pancakes?”

Noctis saw Ignis and winced. “Shit. My bad.”

“Yeah, your bad! How the hell could you fall back asleep?”

“I couldn’t help it! Next time, you light-warp for a mile!”

“Gladiolus! Noctis!” snapped Ignis. They both turned their attention on him. Prompto had set up a camp chair behind Ignis, and was nervously watching the scene unfold. “We all went through quite the ordeal. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to focus on breakfast.”

Gladio deflated a little, understanding that Ignis was miserable, and that yelling only made it worse. He was also annoyed that Ignis would continue to coddle Noctis, even after nearly dying. “Whatever. As long as it’s not you making it.”

“Thank you for relieving me of the burden of instant oatmeal,” said Ignis in a dry crackle.

Gladio looked Ignis up and down. He was visibly shaking, and his breathing was still labored. “You ain’t in any shape to mess with boiling water,” said Gladio.

Prompto cut in before Ignis could protest. “Just leave it to Chef Prompto!” he said, stretching a too bright grin across his face. He bounced toward their supplies and grabbed a jug of water and the tea kettle. Ignis opened his mouth to say something, then decided against arguing. He sank down into the chair Prompto had placed behind him. Gladio mentally thanked Prompto for the foresight.

While Prompto fussed with the camp, Gladio fished out the lavender blanket Ignis dragged into his sleeping bag every night out of the mess that used to be their tent. He handed it to Ignis, trying to make apologetic eye contact with him. Ignis only muttered a thanks, and did not look at Gladio.

Chef Prompto’s breakfast was less oatmeal and more maple and cinnamon soup, but Gladio was too hungry to care. Even Noctis ate his, though he complained loudly about the consistency, and scowled all the way through the meal. Prompto waved him away, declaring thinner oatmeal superior, but Gladio could tell he was hurt. Prompto was terrible at hiding his feelings.

Ignis took only a few bites before passing it off to Gladio, explaining it was too painful for his throat. He asked Prompto to instead make him some concoction of tea and butter, walking him through the proportions with his torn apart voice. Apparently, butter and coffee had been a frequent to-go breakfast of his back Insomnia. Ignis drinking something that only counted as food in the loosest sense of the word so he would have more time to baby-sit a grown man further funneled Gladio’s directionless frustration down to Noctis.

They broke down camp. Prompto struggled to keep Ignis resting, and Gladio struggled with getting Noctis to help more. There was no denying that he had been over exerted, but Noctis would have plenty of time to nap while they made their way to Lestallum, and they were down one man. He could handle putting some chairs into a bag to help save the team’s overall stamina.

When everything was packed save for Ignis’s blanket, Gladio claimed the keys. 

“Prompto drives,” mumbled Noctis as he climbed into the car.

“Huh?” said Gladio.

Noctis closed his eyes. “You yell at everyone on the road. Loudly. So Prompto drives.”

“Who the hell says it’s your call?”

“The kingdom of Lucis.”

Gladio glared. Then, he thrust the keys to Prompto and went into the passenger side, slamming the door behind him. Prompto slid into the driver’s seat with an unmasked awkwardness, revving the engine without a word. They drove away in silence.

Through the rearview mirror, Gladio saw Noctis gently knock his knee against Ignis’s and smile softly at him, which Ignis returned. It was the most sympathy Gladio had seen Noctis give Ignis since he’d been poisoned.

Prompto missed the first exit.

—

Prompto’s interpretation of the well worn route to Lestallum continued to be creative. Ignis needed them to pull over twice to get sick, his sad excuse for breakfast and acidic coffee not agreeing with the toxins. Surprising no one, they ended up in Lestallum much later than planned. 

The post office was close to closing, so Gladio took over the car when they got to the hotel, speeding off to grab their packages. Prompto claimed he knew of a dirt cheap food stall that sold giant Lestallum-style food boxes, generously filled with rice, fried plantains, and garulessa meat. Ignis and Noctis were left to deal with the hotel. When Gladio got a text with the room number, he assumed there had been no difficulties. 

He returned a half hour later with their mail. He was starving, but he wasn’t surprised or disappointed when there were no bags of take-out food. Lestallum was a maze of haphazard city planning, and Prompto was Prompto. What did surprise him was the lack of Ignis. He only saw Noctis, lying halfway down the bed with his feet touching the floor, boots kicked off into the recessed area by the door rather than properly set aside. The TV was on. He was utterly zoned out.

Gladio released his grip on the parcels. They crashed to the floor noisily. Noctis jerked up into a sitting position.

“Where the hell is Iggy?”

“He’s buying medicine and stuff.”

“What?” said Gladio, almost growling the word.

Noctis shrugged. “There’s a convenience store attached to the hotel. He’ll be fine”

Gladio was too appalled to do anything but stare at Noctis with his mouth hanging open. “You’re serious?” 

“Yep,” said Noctis. He met Gladio’s eyes with a look of steel, challenging Gladio to argue. Gladio was never one to back down from a challenge. 

He stepped forward, jaw clenched, hands in fists, all confrontation and menace. Noctis clutched at the bed, meeting Gladio’s gaze.

Before they could escalate, the door lock clicked. Ignis appeared, holding a small plastic bag, looking winded and wane. He almost stumbled through the door. He sat on the bed not currently occupied by Noctis, coughed, and brought out small boxes of over-the-counter meds. He lined them up on his bedside table with a bottle of water, then took out a small snack bag covered in Accordian script. He tossed to Noctis, who caught it in one hand. Noctis gave Gladio one last glare, then looked at the bag.

“What the hell are these?” he asked. Gladio crossed the room and fell into an armchair, putting distance between himself and Noctis before Gladio did something he’d regret.

“Crunchy treats drowning in vaguely shrimp flavored MSG. I wondered if you’d deign to eat them,” croaked Ignis, fussing with the child-proof seals on the medicine bottles. He freed a bottle of cough syrup and carefully poured a dose into the plastic cup that came with the bottle. He leaned down to make sure it was completely level, looking for all the world like he was measuring ingredients. It was very Ignis and very endearing, and somehow made Gladio even more annoyed with Noctis.

Noctis read what ingredients were written in Lucian and blanched. He held the bag out like it was decaying roadkill.

“Uhhhh, these are made out of chickpeas.”

“Indeed.”

“Chickpeas are beans.”

“I only ask that you try.”

Noctis slowly set the snack aside, placing it gingerly on the bedside table.

Ignis sighed. “I am convalescing. Would you not grant me this?”

“Uh, what?”

“Convalescing means—” started Ignis, but he was interrupted by a violent coughing fit. Gladio waited for Noctis to offer his beloved adviser comfort, but Noctis stayed still, watching with a distant expression.

Gladio swallowed a growl and went to Ignis, rubbing small circles into his back. “Hey. You gotta stop chatting, it’s making things worse. Just rest,” he said, as gently as if Iris was the one sick in bed. He looked pointedly at Noctis while he spoke.

Ignis elegantly pushed himself off the bed, pulling away from Gladio’s touch. He closed his eyes and looked like he was scolding his own body into submission. Noctis gave Gladio a pleased look, which Gladio didn’t understand at all. He glared harder.

Ignis opened his eyes, froze, and then closed them again. He started to waver. Gladio slid back to his side, ready to catch Ignis if he fainted. Ignis managed to muscle past whatever was coming over him and cleared his throat.

“If no one opposes, I’d like to use the shower first,” he said.

“Yeah, of course,” said Gladio.

“I’m second,” declared Noctis.

“Thank you.” Ignis grabbed one of his suitcases and disappeared into the bathroom

Gladio waited until he heard running water before crossing his arms and standing over Noctis. He breathed heavily through flared nostrils. Noctis regarded him blandly. 

When Gladio spoke, his voice was low and dangerous. He spit out his words with contempt. “Do you even give a shit about him?”

Noctis's expression snapped to one of shock. “What?”

“He wipes your ass and you don’t even fucking care.”

Noctis’s eyes went wide. His jaw dropped open in indignation. Gladio breathed out a bitter laugh. It was an expression Gladio had seen many times before. It meant ‘what do you mean, I’m not getting my way?’

“Yeah, you, Prince Pissbaby. Iggy took one hell of a hit for us, and you kick back while he runs errands?”

“If I didn’t he’d—”

“He needs to be resting, not worrying about your fucking fiber!” 

“Will you listen to me?”

“The fuck is there to hear? You couldn’t stay awake long enough to make the guy breakfast—” 

“I didn’t mean to! I already said I’m sorry!”

Gladio clicked his tongue. “Always knew you could be a bratty little shit, never knew how bad until all this quality time.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he’d gone too far.

Noctis turned away from Gladio, but not far enough. He no longer looked like the entitled prince he could be. He looked hurt in a way Gladio had never seen before, wounded and a little lonely. His eyes shone, just briefly, and he stared down at his feet.

Gladio felt the first stirrings of guilt.

It didn’t matter how aware Gladio was of his own faults. Knowing was different than acting, and Gladio had yet to learn how to restrain himself. As soon as a situation grew beyond his control, Gladio would make a weapon of his anger, and use it against his loved ones without discrimination, wild in his rage. 

He was not mad at Noctis. He was mad at the poison. He was mad at the redleg that had heard them because Gladio couldn’t leave Noctis alone. He was mad that they had spent the whole day seeking out the third of thirteen weapons, yet walked away with nothing. He was mad that they knew of so many royal tombs, yet were not ready to confront any of them. He was mad at the heaviness of their quest, the impossibility of their task. He was mad that he was homeless, living out of a duffle bag and a tent. He was mad that Insomnia had fallen. He was mad that his father was dead.

He worried he would ever learn how to process anger privately and calmly. He had taken his lessons from Clarus, who always had rage simmering beneath his surface, ready to boil at the first touch of heat. Gladio missed him terribly. He would give anything to have one last petty fight over nothing.

But regret was a slow moving thing, and remorse would settle later, mingling with grief and guilt. For now, there was only an easing of his resolve. Instead of attacking, he allowed silence, and gave Noctis time to collect himself.

Noctis shook off his hurt and shoved his way past Gladio. He pulled his boots on roughly, not bothering with the laces. “You don’t get it,” he hissed. 

He left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Gladio grunted and glared at the door as if it was Noctis himself. He had softened enough that he had no other reaction. He merely pulled out his current book, a pulpy noir piece he’d found on clearance at Longwythe. Their budget, lack of library access, and Gladio’s reading speed had led to him scraping the bottom of the literary barrel. It passed the time, and the amusingly overwrought prose made the book an accidental comedy.

Eventually, he heard the water shut off and a blow dryer turned on, accompanied by Ignis’s frequent coughing. When he returned to the main room, he wasn’t quite his usual self, but he was still suspiciously more put together than a man who had flirted with death just the night before. Ignis still wore the perfectly tailored and uncomfortable outfit he’d insisted on putting on for the car ride, and his hair was pushed back in a simple style, but still had some kind of wax in it. It was like he was getting ready to wander Lestallum, even though he was balancing himself with a hand on the hotel dresser.

Gladio made a show of looking him up and down. “You gonna sleep in dress pants?”

Ignis cleared his throat, preparing himself to speak. “I wanted to feel a bit more human,” he said. He sounded even worse than before, like sandpaper rubbing against tree bark.

“You serious? Getting to lie around in pajamas all day is the best part of being sick,” said Gladio, though Ignis’s pajamas were all coordinated two-piece fashion sets with too many buttons. They were also suspiciously new, and Ignis had carefully changed the subject when Gladio pointed that out. Gladio was not so easily fooled, and teased him for sleeping naked like a regular slob. Ignis countered that he’d at least been considerate and didn’t wander around camp in nothing but boxers. Gladio said that him wandering around as naked as the other men would allow _was_ considerate, and put on a show of flexing. Ignis had blushed and turned away, but he actually smiled, and laughed a little.

It was one of the few times Gladio had seen him acting as a human rather than an advisor, and Gladio wished he would show more. He could start by relaxing after dealing with poison.

“There is plenty of time for lazing about,” sniffed Ignis. He fished out his work briefcase from the pile of their luggage, pulled out the chair at the hotel desk, and took out his tablet.

Gladio watched in disbelief.

“The hell are you doing?”

Ignis coughed into his elbow, then waved a hand at Gladio. “This mishap will drain what financial cushion we had managed to accrue. The budget needs reassessing.” He set the screen up to stand and pulled out a bluetooth keyboard. Gladio realized he wasn’t just going to open a few documents and scan them. He was settling in to do some real work.

Gladio lay his book down. “C’mon Iggy. That can wait,” he said. He went to Ignis and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Ignis gently brushed his hand away, then he pinched at the bridge of his nose, coming in up from beneath his glasses. “I appreciate your intention, but I do not always find comfort in touch,” he muttered, somewhere between a reprimand and a confession.

Gladio winced inwardly, reminding himself that not everyone was as tactile as him. He took a step backwards. “Sorry. Should’ve checked.”

“No harm done,” said Ignis. He navigated to a spreadsheet program and began to type in numbers. Gladio hovered. He saw Ignis’s eyes flutter shut after about a minute, then snap back open. Gladio took a deep breath, trying to stop his frustration at Noctis spilling over onto Ignis, but unable to keep himself from meddling.

“You look halfway to death. C’mon, budgeting can wait.”

“I’m hardly exerting myself.”

Gladio swallowed down a wordless noise of exasperation. If anyone else had gotten stung by the redleg, Ignis would be fussing over them, doing everything short of physical restraint to make sure they were resting. He found it frustrating that Ignis wouldn’t apply that concern to himself. He’d worked with plenty of Crownsguard recruits who thought ignoring their own health was a virtue and not a danger, and Gladio made sure they knew that made them a liability. Ignis should know better.

He was also pale and weak and lectures could wait.

“I’m good with numbers. Let me handle that.”

Ignis coughed into the crook of his elbow. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ve a bit of a personalized system. Teaching you would take longer than simply adjusting things on my own.”

Gladio looked at the screen, and sure enough, Ignis’s spreadsheet was filled with nonsensical abbreviations he didn’t understand. A sigh escaped him. “If you decide to let me help with anything, I’ll be right here,” he said, more harshly than he intended. He picked up his book, though he mostly pretended to read while watching Ignis, who clicked away at his keyboard, unaware of Gladio. Soon enough, his head began to dip forward. He leaned precariously to the left, then snapped back to attention.

“Saw that,” growled Gladio. “Get your ass in bed.”

“In a moment.”

“Ramuh’s dusty cock,” breathed Gladio, not actually directing his words at Ignis, but making his general displeasure known. Ignis ignored him, so Gladio ignored Ignis. He didn’t even say anything when Ignis nodded off again. That time, it ended with him resting his head in his arms on the desk, which Gladio supposed was something.

The door opened, revealing Noctis holding Ignis’s lavender blanket. He gave Gladio a pointed glare that turned to sympathy when he saw Ignis. Ignis stirred, slowly sitting back up, adjusting. That seemed to satisfy something in Noctis, like he’d asked a question, and heard an answer he had expected. He went to Ignis and draped the blanket over his shoulders, more gentle and tender than Gladio had ever seen.

Ignis shifted. “Noct,” he said with disapproval, the same tone he used whenever he caught Noctis doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. 

“Your neck’s going to hurt,” said Noctis. Ignis sniffed in reply, his eyes half closed.

“Noct,” he repeated, but this time it was a weak protest. He pulled the blanket together at the front, creating a little poncho for himself.

“The body repairs itself when it sleeps, right?” said Noctis. He tugged on the back of Ignis’s blanket blanket-poncho. Ignis hummed vaguely, and Noctis pulled again. Gladio realized they were playing out a scene they had written over their years together, like when Gladio used to raise his eyebrows at Iris when she was younger, and Iris would know she could no longer avoid bedtime.

Ignis slowly straightened, and let Noctis lead him toward a bed. Noctis pulled back the covers and waited expectantly. Ignis sighed and lay down, readjusting the blanket over himself. Noctis pulled the thinner hotel blanket over him. Noctis was _tucking Ignis in._

“Are your headphones charged?” he asked.

“Likely not,” said Ignis. He winced in pain, no longer bothering to hide how much speaking hurt him. He looked considerably less focused than he had, and he had already been fairly out of it all day. The meds were kicking in.

“Mine are better, anyway.” Noctis had incredibly high tech headphones that were designed for sleep, and had gotten them fitted with custom ear molds. He never let anyone else touch them. Gladio watched in awe as he fished them out of his bag and gave them to Ignis, who put them in his ears dutifully, like he’d been given a royal order. Noctis navigated his phone, and Gladio recognized the bright green color of the Luca Sphere music app. Noctis picked something to play, set his phone down, and Ignis finally closed his eyes.

Noctis carefully removed the glasses off of Ignis’s face, focused on the delicate task, faced away from Gladio. “You were bugging him to lie down, weren’t you?” he said in a quiet voice. His headphones may be quality, but noise-cancelling technology could only go so far.

“Yeah,” said Gladio. Regret was finally settling in his stomach in full, sudden and heavy, an anchor dropped through his temper. 

Noctis took out a charger out of his bag and plugged it into the outlet embedded in the bedside table next to Ignis. “Figured. That’s why he was sleeping on the desk. If he’s about to hit a wall, just let him, otherwise he gets all proud and the crash is worse.” Noctis stabbed the charger into his phone roughly, unable to keep his body language as calm as his voice. “That’s why I let him go to the store, okay? It wasn’t far away, we’re on the first floor, he didn’t even have to ride an elevator.”

Gladio took in a slow breath. “That checks out.”

“Yeah,” said Noctis, somewhere between smug and irritated. He went to the desk and started turning off all of Ignis’s electronics. “He listens to white noise instead of music at night, by the way. And he doesn’t like sports drinks, but he’ll drink broth, so if he’s dehydrated give him that. You can tell how stressed out he is by how long he keeps his glasses off. He gets headaches when he doesn’t sleep, but he’ll blame his glasses, and thinks going without them for a while will fix everything.”

He finally turned to Gladio, looking him right in the eyes. His shoulders were back, his arms crossed, his head was held high. Gladio could see Regis in him, all royal indignation, communicating disappointed with a quiet strength. 

“You can call me whatever you want, but don’t tell me I don’t care,” he said. His posture was still impeccable and regal, but eyes burned with anger and hurt.

Gladio pulled his gaze away. He watched the rise and fall of Ignis’s chest, finally peaceful in sleep. 

Noctis was entitled, Ignis was enabling, and there was so, so much more complexity to their relationship. Gladio had known them for years, and had been too caught up in his own opinions to see the depths of their dynamic.

“I fucked up,” he said. Noctis crossed his arms over his chest.

“You think?”

Gladio took in a breath. He let it out. “I’d say we go to the Lunar Whale down in Esterway Park and talk it out over drinks but uh. Kinda can’t.”

Noctis let his arms fall to his side, slowly letting go of tension. It was a fast turnaround, but that was their way. Noctis understood what Gladio was not saying—Insomnia was gone, and they were processing that loss through each other.

“I’ll miss that place,” he said, distant and sad.

Gladio gave him a small smile. “Best cocktails in Insomnia.”

Noctis fell onto the desk’s chair. “Yeah. It was pretty great.”

They, too, had a relationship no one else understood, one born from duty, taught to them by their fathers, who learned it from theirs. They knew the bite of battle, and they shared in it, and let it go when it was done.

“We good?” asked Gladio.

“We’re good,” said Noctis.

Gladio wondered how much Ignis understood of their ancestral bond of combat and war. He wondered what they could learn from each other.

Prompto burst through the door in a cloud of hair gel and energy, holding one big plastic bag and a smaller paper one. “Hey guys!” he said, irrepressibly chipper. “Sorry it took so long, but I wanted to get Iggy something and—”

Noctis held up a hand, and jerked his head toward the mop of dirty blonde hair buried beneath blankets. Prompto straightened up and made a show of zipping his mouth shut, which did not stop the door from loudly slamming behind him.

Noctis jerked his head toward the minifridge. “You guys should eat that somewhere else so the smell doesn’t make him puke. Leave mine in there, though.”

“You’re not coming?” asked Prompto, not unlike a puppy who was watching his owner leave for work.

“He’ll freak if he wakes up and I’m not here,” said Noctis, and Gladio agreed with him. While he liked to believe Ignis would trust in Gladio’s protection, he was also feverish and drowning in medication, and could very well venture out to Lestallum in a panic. Gladio would do the same.

“Just you and me, Blondie,” said Gladio.

“Ahhhh—okay,” said Prompto. He looked mildly terrified. Gladio supposed he deserved that, and knew he had more apologies to make.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio and Prompto, forced to spend time together without the other boys, have a heart-to-heart and bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes hi hello, this fic technically had a completed rough draft and should have been edited and finished weeks ago, but I ended up gutting this chapter and redoing it. This is supposed to be a personal experiment in letting go and following the words where they take me, actually enjoying the narrative looseness afforded by fanfiction instead of getting overly precious and doing a thousand rewrites, but you can only ask so much of a Virgo. The chapter _is_ still very very unstructured, I go off about beer for hours, if I named chapters ever I would call this Prompto Argentum Drinks An IPA: An Adventure.

Prompto followed Gladio through the halls of the Leville, expecting to be led to one of the many seating areas that fancy hotels always had but no one ever used. Instead, Gladio went out the front entrance, and wandered out into the streets of Lestallum.

“Uhhhh, where’re we going?” asked Prompto, jogging a little to catch up with Gladio.

Gladio shrugged. “Always wanted to go check out that Balamb place. Now is as good a time as ever.”

Balamb was a famous rooftop brewery near the markets that thrived on tourists browsing Letsallum’s wares. Balamb provided a place for market guests to bring their street food and rest their feet with a cool drink. It was tradition for Insomnians to finish a long day of shopping at Balamb.

Of course, being a tourist spot, everything sold there was extremely expensive.

“Uhh, can we really afford that?” asked Prompto.

Gladio shrugged. “Doesn’t cost that much more than anywhere else,” he said.

Prompto groaned. He was used to hearing out of touch comments from Noctis, but hadn’t expected them out of Gladio. He should have. While Gladio made a show of loving Cup Noodles and cheap booze, he was a noble, and he didn’t live in Prompto’s world. None of them did. Even Ignis, who was educated in budgets and emergencies, had his moments. He’d been planning a shopping spree in Altissa, and had thus brought an extra suitcase instead of enough clothes for two weeks--nevermind a whole indefinite royal quest. When Prompto suggested hitting up the thrift shops in Lestallum, Ignis let slip his distaste with a quirk of his lips, then smoothed his expression over and said “We’ll see.” Then Noctis asked what a thrift shop was.

“Yeah, for like, fancy bars in the Alexandria District,” said Prompto, openly rolling his eyes. He didn’t dance around these moments with Noctis, and he wasn’t going to do it with Gladio. “Real people don’t pay twenty crowns for a rum and Jetty. Or, uh, 2000 gil. Whatever.”

“Some bars only use top shelf stuff.”

“Kinda what I’m trying to say, buddy.”

Gladio seemed to consider, then grunted dismissively. “Iggy’s is already pissed at me. I want a real beer.”

“All you drink is Tonberry Lite!”

“That’s not beer.” 

“Wha…” said Prompto, who was pretty sure the most popular beer in all of Lucis was, in fact, a beer. Before Prompto could get any kind of clarification, Gladio was already on his way to the markets, long legs effortlessly putting him five feet ahead of Prompto.

“Wait up!” said Prompto.

—

Balamb was peak Lestallum with rustic wood floor, mismatched metal tables, and exposed pipes. Tourism had slowed considerably with the weakening of the Wall, meaning most people there were natives, talking loudly and flashing toothy grins at whoever walked by. Ignis and Noctis hated the more expressive culture of outer Lucis, but Prompto and Gladio thought it was fun. They both smiled back at everyone, saying ‘hey!’ to strangers and complimenting hairstyles and outfits. If they’d done that in Insomnia, they would have received polite smiles at best, open annoyance at worst.

They claimed a spot in a far corner, allowing Gladio his deeply ingrained habit of keeping as many people in his sight as possible, even if Noctis was back at the hotel. A waitress came to them immediately and rambled off a list of beer types that Prompto had never heard of before. He had no idea beer was this complicated. He thought beer was just one thing, beer. It was bubbly, bitter, and kind of gross. That was beer.

Prompto was apparently wrong.

Gladio ordered something called a Son Of A Submariner. When the waitress turned to him, Prompto panicked, and ordered a “Man With A Machine Gun,” whatever tha twas. He remembered nothing about the beer’s description, but he liked the name. After all, Prompto, indeed, had a machine gun. His choice got an eyebrow raise out of Gladio, which made Prompto very, very nervous.

The waitress left, and Prompto opened his food box, filling the air with the scent of well-seasoned food. Prompto realized he was incredibly, incredibly hungry. He wanted to dig in right away, but Gladio seemed less enthusiastic, apparently waiting for the beer. Prompto picked up his fork, blinked at Gladio, set his fork down, and shifted around in his seat.

“So how’s Iggy?” Prompto asked.

“Probably won’t need a hospital, but not great. Not that he thinks so. Thinks he’s ready to run a damn marathon.”

“That’s Iggy for you.”

Silence fell between them. Gladio didn’t seem uncomfortable, but Prompto felt uncomfortable enough for the both of them.

After a few moments, the waitress came back with their beers. Gladio raised his glass to Prompto, and they drank.

Prompto, thrilled that he had something to do with his hands, immediately took a giant swallow of the Man With A Machine Gun. It was everything he could do not to gag. 

It wasn’t so much the taste, which was saying a lot, because the beer tasted the way fresh concrete smelled. It was the whole  _ experience _ of the beer. It dried out his mouth like a vacuum cleaner, and all Prompto wanted was water. 

“How’s that IPA treating you?” asked Gladio.

Prompto grinned as if his life depended on it, as if someone held a gun to his head and shouted ‘Perform joy!’ “Oh man, it’s so good!”

“Yeah?” Gladio took a sip of his whatever-the-hell. Prompto felt a jealousy he had never before known, not even when he first stepped into Noctis’s million crown penthouse and saw all the brand new expensive furniture, the home theater system that cost more money than Prompto would ever have in his life, and the refrigerator that had an  _ ice-maker _ ! Prompto never had enough ice!

Prompto drank again. It was somehow worse the second time around.

Now that Gladio finally had his beer, he opened his food box. Prompto tore into his as if it was his birthday and the food was the only present.

They ate in a silence that was only marginally more comfortable than what they had been sharing before, but Prompto was so happy to be eating he didn’t mind it. The food box was as delicious as he remembered, filled with perfectly cooked rice and grilled chickatrice charred just the right amount. It settled into his empty stomach and that settled his nerves a great deal, though did not soothe them entirely, seeing how he’d been shoving away his anxiety for weeks. 

It had begun when he first sat down in the Regalia, and it was catching up to him now, piles and piles of unaddressed worries weighing him down. But a warm belly was enough comfort to start looking around and appreciating where he was.

The rooftop’s iron pipe railings were wrapped in golden fairy lights, interrupted with bright white signs that said in big red letters: Caution, Metal Is Hot! He wondered how many people had put their hands on bare metal in the scalding hot Lestallum climate, remembered how many times he’d leaned against the Regalia when the sun was at its zenith, and suddenly felt grateful for the signs.

Traditional Lucian music played through loudspeakers, all banjos and harmonicas, a genre that had fallen out of favor in Insomnia decades before, but still thrived in outer regions. Gentle winds heavy with humidity brought the scent of fryer oil and spice up from the markets, laced with the overall Lestallum smell of the Meteor shard, smokey and metallic at once. 

Prompto looked past the rooftop and saw the city laid out before him, bustle and lights, groups of friends laughing with red faces and drinks in their hands. He closed his eyes, and committed himself to this moment, a tiny piece of calm in a cruel and shapeless storm they were caught in.

When the food was gone (and he had given his beer three more brave swallows), Prompto jumped up and announced he wanted to take some photos.

“I’ll be here,” said Gladio. He then held out his hand and, in a flash of sparks, summoned a book from the armiger. Prompto stared, and Gladio shrugged.

“The Kings of Lucis owe the Amicitias. I’ll put what I want in there.”

“What else?” asked Prompto, who couldn’t ever imagine putting personal items in the armiger, even if Noctis did all the time.

“Things a guy might need in a hurry,” said Gladio. He winked. Prompto decided he didn’t want to know.

He left Gladio to his devices and wondered around the brewery, snapping pictures of whatever he found beautiful or interesting. When he got back, Gladio immediately put his book down.

“Show me what you got,” he said.

Without meaning to, Prompto gasped quietly. He forced Noctis to look at all his pictures, because Noctis was Noctis and Prompto felt more than comfortable annoying him. Ignis hovered around to make sure Prompto didn’t take anything that could get the royal retinue in trouble, though he’d gotten more and more lax out in greater Lucis, where wifi was more of a whisper than a reality, and technology in general was ten years behind. Prompto was shocked Gladio cared beyond laughing at the shots he got of Noctis getting his ass kicked.

“Totally!” said Prompto, moving his chair next to Gladio.

He showed Gladio his photos, and Gladio was present and engaged. He didn’t have many useful critiques or comments, but he let Prompto know what he liked, and that was more than enough.

When Prompto had first Gladio, they had gotten along immediately. Prompto was just coming out of his shell, and Gladio had never known a shell at all. They teased Noctis like a well-rehearsed comedy duo, and talked endlessly about movies Prompto had seen based on books Gladio had read. Prompto thought Ignis was way too smart and put-together to want to be friends with someone like Prompto, but he thought he might have found one in Gladio. He started practicing ways to ask Gladio to hang out with just the two of them, no Noctis.

Then Prompto started Crownsguard training.

Noctis insisted on paying for Prompto to have private lessons with Gladio on top of the Crownsguard bootcamp, even if Prompto protested any time Noctis tried to spend money on him, and Gladio tried to wave the fee. In the end, Prompto was thankful Gladio got  _ something  _ for dealing with him. 

Gladio taught with a heavy dose of tough love, and Prompto needed a lot more of the love part than Gladio was willing to give. Prompto required patience, and someone who understood how to work with his fear of failure, and teach him how to move past it. 

Gladio was not that person. 

When Noctis pointed out Prompto’s amazing aim in video games, someone put a gun in his hand, and he started training with the snipers. Prompto had never been happier.

_ (Even if that innate aim required reaching deep inside a blackened and blocked out part of him, a place that remembered flashes of stark white walls and men with clipcodes, that could tell him the meaning of a barcode tattoo if he let it.) _

_ (He’d grown comfortable with it for Noct.) _

_ (Almost.) _

After their failed attempt at training, they grew distant. But now, they had been traveling together for weeks and weeks and still had tons of royal arms to find. Prompto knew that, at some point, they would have to talk.

He watched Gladio click through his pictures with a soft smile on his face, and then he spoke without thinking.

“Did you really mean what you said yesterday? That I’ll never be any good at fighting?”

Prompto felt his face go bright red, but he kept his gaze trained on Gladio, committing to the conversation even if all he wanted to do was take his words back and run.

Gladio grunted. Prompto couldn’t tell if it was with remorse or annoyance. He slowly set down Prompto’s camera. “I was being an ass and taking shit out on you you didn’t deserve. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay!” said Prompto, feeling relieved. “We were all really tired.”

“But I’m gonna be real with you, kid,” he said, and Prompto’s heart clenched.

“Me and Noct have been training together our whole damn lives, and Iggy started in high school—well, college, for Ignis, but—whatever. Somewhere in our teens. We get how a team works. You gonna finish that?” Gladio gestured toward Prompto’s beer. 

“Really, really not,” said Prompto.

Gladio chuckled and claimed Prompto’s abandoned drink for himself. Prompto shifted around, nervous for both Gladio’s upcoming criticism and the fact he just spent way too much money on a drink he didn’t even like. If this conversation with Gladio didn’t kill him, Ignis would.

Gladio set down his glass, expression growing serious again. “I can take hits, so I draw the assholes to me, keep ‘em busy. Noct’s a Caelum, he’s bred for this, and when he’s in the zone he’s exactly where he needs to be. Iggy’s so quick he can get you a potion before you even know you’ve been hurt, and he makes sure he puts keeping us safe above anything he does with a weapon. Sure, he’s damn good with them, and better with magic than half the ‘Glaives, but he knows me and Noct can’t do shit if we’re bleeding on the ground. You?” He made a show of looking Prompto up and down. “You should be picking off the stragglers we got distracted, hanging back and handling yourself so Iggy doesn’t have to worry. Instead, you slide into the fray and get your ass beat. The hell do you do that for?”

“I—” started Prompto, but his words got stuck in his throat. He knew that ‘hang back’ was code for ‘you’re useless.’ He was trained with a sniper rifle, sure, but they were mostly too slow for a real battle. He used handguns instead, because they were light and maneuverable, but he was still told to watch the field from afar, to stay out of everyone’s way. He hung his head. “I’m sorry. Maybe I should focus on potions instead of Iggy.”

Gladio’s eyes narrowed. “Are you serious right now?”

Prompto kept staring at the floor. 

“Stop,” said Gladio, almost growling, and Prompto snapped his gaze back to Gladio. “That pisses me off. If I was as good a shot as you, I’d sure as hell stay out of melee range. Getting hit sucks.”

Prompto looked up, completely surprised. Gladio leaned forward.

“When that redleg took out Ignis, you acted before I did. You got your gun out and shot like you were born holding bullets. I thought, shit, _ that’s  _ Prompto!” 

_ (Born with—he wasn’t—) _

Gladio leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re good. You’re damn good. If you weren’t, I wouldn’t have let you travel with Noct. Would’ve put you on a plane to Altissa with the rest of the guests and ignored any tantrum His Charmlessness threw at me.”

Prompto jerked backwards in surprise, a noise of shock escaping from him. He’d always assumed he was allowed to tag along because Noctis said so, and they were only friends because Prompto stumbled upon an accidental cocktail of liking what Noctis liked and not liking anything expensive or prince-ly. He didn’t know he was Gladio approved. 

Gladio raised an eyebrow, noting Prompto’s reaction. “You can’t be Noct, you can’t be Iggy, you can’t be me. When you stop trying to prove something and be Prompto, I’ll be waiting.”

Their conversation was interrupted by their waitress coming by to collect Gladio’s empty glasses. Prompto was glad for it. He wasn’t sure how to respond to Gladio. 

The waitress beamed at them. “Ready for a second round?”

Gladio looked at Prompto, then at her. He leaned over as if he were about to tell her a secret, smiling mischievously. “Question. Know of any daemons someone needs out of the way?”

——

The waitress turned out to be a reliable tipster. She told them about a group of imps bothering a warehouse a mile out of town, far away enough that the bounty was generous, but easy enough for two hunters imbued with the Crystal’s magic. Gladio took down the information, then went off to rent chocobos. Prompto trailed behind him, chattering nervously about bad idea this and Ignis that. Gladio ignored him. He knew exactly what the two of them were capable of, providing Prompto listened to instructions. After their conversation Gladio had confidence he would, at least for tonight.

Gladio was right. They took the imps down in under twenty minutes.

When the battle was done, both Gladio and Prompto fell to the ground in exhaustion, laughing away their post-battle exhilaration while the inky smoke of miasma dispersed into the air around them.

After some time, Prompto pushed himself up to a sitting position, sprawling his legs out straight, tilting his face to the star-filled sky. The light from his starshell bullet had dimmed, but was still present, casting soft shadows across him. He looked peaceful in a way Gladio had never seen before. He was actually still, quieted in body and mind.

Gladio breathed out a quiet laugh. He was feeling the same pride he felt when Noctis landed a complex combo, or Iris nailed a target with her throwing stars. “You did good. You did damn good.”

Prompto’s eyes went wide and he grinned, unashamedly delighted in a way Gladio envied. Prompto had no control over his emotions, which could be annoying, but was more often than not innocent and contagious. “These starshells kick ass!” he said. “Can’t wait to tell Noct and Iggy!”

“You did a hell of a lot more than shoot a fancy bullet, Blondie.”

“Yeah,” said Prompto. He still looked happy, but sounded a little disappointed and dismissive. Gladio studied him for a minute, then sat up himself.

“You got to get it through your damn head that melee’s not the only way to fight.”

For a moment, Prompto looked sullen. Then, he grinned again, all at once, like he flipped a switch. Gladio could practically see him placing the smile on manually. “Of course! But I couldn’t pick off daemons without you slicing ‘em up first!”

Gladio gave Prompto an incredulous look. “Do you think I could’ve handled all that alone? Like I just brought you along for fun, not ‘cause you were necessary?”

Prompto bit his lip. “Kinda?”

“Yeah, no. I know my limits pretty well, and if I saw a group of those guys coming at me alone? I would have run.”

Prompto tilted his head. “Really?”

“Yup. I’d prove it to you, but we only got so many phoenix downs.”

Gladio pushed himself up to standing and held out a hand to Prompto. “C’mon. We gotta get back before something bigger and badder comes along. Can’t leave Noct along with Iggy for much longer.”

Prompto let Gladio pull him up. “I’m sure they’re fine! Noct’s good at keeping Iggy down when he has to.” He fumbled in his pockets and pulled out the chocobo whistle. They waited for their mounts to find them from wherever they had gone when the battle began.

“Really?” said Gladio. He’d seen something precious and private between them in the Leville, but as he considered Prompto, he wondered if those moments weren’t so rare, and if the prince’s best friend had seen more.

“Yeah, of course!” said Prompto. “I mean, that’s  _ his  _ Specs we’re talking about. Nobody gets to mess with him, not even Iggy himself.”

Their chocobos trotted over, appearing from behind a rock formation. Prompto immediately pulled out gysahl greens and offered them to the animals, even if giving them too many treats was heavily discouraged by the rental companies. Gladio watched him silently. Prompto glanced at him nervously, then the same realization seemed to hit him.

“You probably didn’t hang out with them together a lot, huh,” said Prompto.

“Not a ton, no. Couple of dinners and getting ready for balls and shit, but otherwise, I’m alone with Noct or you’re there,” admitted Gladio.

“Huh,” said Prompto, absently scratching behind a chocobo’s ear. “No wonder you get so frustrated.”

“Yeah?”

“They’re weird, man. At first, I thought Iggy was, like, way older than us, just some guy hired by the king to do everything for Noct and lecture him all the time. When I found out he grew up with Noct, I was  _ totally  _ shocked!”

“That’s the damn thing,” said Gladio. “He’s a Scientia. Smart as hell, sure, but babysitters? That’s not them.”

“Umm, I don’t really know about all the weird royal House roles and stuff, except House Amacitia being Sheilds,” said Prompto, waving his hand dismissively. Royal society was a hobby for a lot of commoners, but apparently, not Prompto. “It’s just good someone close to Noct became his attendant or–whatever Iggy is. ‘Cause if Noct just had some a real driver and a real personal chef and a real maid, and none of them would lecture him about slacking off or being, um, you know, Noct-y, he’d be even more, um–”

“Shitty?”

“You said it, not me! He’d be  _ way _ more, uhhh, that. Like, I wouldn’t be his friend at  _ all _ , no matter who said–nevermind.” Gladio raised his eyebrows, but Prompto jumped into the next topic before Gladio had time to say anything. “But it’s not just about someone keeping Noct in line. Iggy  _ needs _ to be busy, you know? Have you ever seen a bored Ignis?”

“He gets bored?”

Prompto shuddered theatrically. “It’s bad, man. After he got his Masters he rearranged Noct’s apartment two times in one week. Noct made his dad make up stuff for him to do.”

Gladio laughed. “Sounds right.”

Prompto grinned, and swung himself up on his chocobo. “So maybe it can be, uhh, a little co-dependent, kinda? But they’re mostly just, you know. Weird. Iggy’s not the reason Noct won’t eat veggies, and Noct’s not the reason Iggy drinks coffee instead of sleeping ever, and sometimes that’s both bad for them, but most of the time it works out.”

“Huh,” said Gladio.

He loved Noctis. But Noctis was also his duty, and that made him a brother-in-arms, and not necessarily a brother. There were pieces of Noctis he was missing, and many of those pieces belonged to Ignis, who had done nothing to deserve his ire. 

Ignis, who was not expressive in his words, but showed his love and appreciation through his deeds, just like Noctis. He hadn’t been babying Gladio by assuming he wouldn’t have brought his own food to the Costlemark Tomb. Ignis had been caring for him.

Gladio had his reasons for wanting Noct to mature faster than he was, and Noctis not moving at the pace Gladio wanted could frustrate him. Gladio liked it when there were things to blame his frustrations on. Ignis was someone to point a finger at.

Through this trip, he’d come to realize Ignis was hilarious in an understated way, not nearly as pretentious as he seemed, and shared his boundless kindness without question or condition. He was patient and sweet and quick-witted. Gladio owed Ignis so much more than he’d given him.

They rode to Lestallum with no incident, imp bangles in hand, ready to be turned in for their hunter’s fee. 

When they returned, they saw Noctis and Ignis lying together in the same bed, breaking their unofficial tradition of Prompto sleeping next to Noctis and Gladio sleeping next to Ignis. They both lay still on their backs, mirrors of one another.

Gladio and Prompto stripped down and got into their pajamas (or what passed for pajamas in Gladio’s case.) They tucked themselves in under the covers. 

Prompto immediately began to toss and turn, which was the exact reason he always slept next to Noctis, who could sleep through anything. Gladio growled, low in his throat.

“Settle down, Blondie, or I’ll pin you in place,” whispered Gladio harshly.

“Ummm, sorry, but also? Weird thing to say to a guy in bed with you.”

“Depends on the guy.”

Ignis stirred, turning toward them, his eyes briefly fluttering open. Both Gladio and Prompto froze, waiting like guilty children. Ignis settled, too filled with cough syrup and toxins to truly wake up.

As soon as Ignis went still, Prompto flipped over to his stomach. Gladio sighed and threw an arm over him as a warning.

Prompto, very quietly, whispered, “Man cuddles.”

The weight of Gladio’s arm actually got Prompto to stay in place. They fell fast asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hi nice to meet you please [be my friend on tumblr](lilacsolanum.tumblr.com%22) and/or [twitter](twitter.com/lilacsolanum) I need to talk about Final Fantasy XV with someone in the fandom, my poor friends are suffering


End file.
